Bonds of time
by xBelekinax
Summary: Giselle Elmer; a simple student with simple desires, chased into the past. Sherlock Holmes; famous detective, believer in logic, difficult personality. What happens when he makes her his 'student?
1. Prologue

**Alright so this is my new story; Sherlock Holmes. So far, it is proving to be much more difficult than POTC. Ah well, we'll see in the future how it turns out.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes (movies and/or books).**

Giselle Elmer hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. It was particularly heavy today seeing as it was her first day in university as a medical student.

The sun was shining brightly, blinding her as she hurried up the front steps. A small smile graced her lips as the breeze ruffled her short blonde tresses.

A sharp push to the shoulder almost caused her to lose balance, but she managed to sway precariously without falling.

"Watch where you're going, Elmer." A rough voice said. Giselle visibly quailed.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you. The sun was in my eyes, I-"

"Stop stuttering, you did that on purpose, Elmer. I saw you." Another voice said. The latter one was more feminine, but had the same amount of roughness as the former one.

"I didn't, I swear I didn't! I'm so sorry, I-"

"You tied to knock my brother down, just because he's limping. Didn't you?" the woman in front of her said, motioning with her head towards her brother. She had black hair, almost down to her waist, pretty face with steel eyes and a shapely body. Giselle didn't want to admit it, but she knew that the unpleasant brunette was quite a beauty.

The same couldn't be said for the brunette's brother though. He was quite heavy-set and his small narrow brown eyes were wide apart, giving him a perpetually dull look. The dull look was completed with a head full of brown bristly hairs, shaved closely to his scalp. He may have looked dull, but Giselle knew that he was anything but.

Giselle steeled her spine, trying to stick to her promise to herself. "Of course I didn't. And if I did, I doubt a hundred and twenty five pound person, like me, would send a two hundred twenty pound person, like your brother, flying with a simple brush of the shoulder. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm running late for my lecture." And with that Giselle hoisted her bag even higher and hurried away from the horror siblings, as she had dubbed them privately.

However, her bravado ended in a blanche as she heard the tell tale pounding of heavy and much lither feet behind her. She didn't even dare look behind her to confirm her theories; she sprinted, running as fast as she could with a set of heavy books. She hardly knew where she was running, and her mind didn't even register the path she was taking. She only focused on putting as much distance between her and her pursuers.

As she turned a corner, she looked behind her and a gasp of shock escaped her. The dark beauty had caught up with her and with a firm hand caught Giselle from her bag's shoulder strap, pulling it neatly off her shoulder. The bag fell to the floor with a heavy thud, the strap tripping her.

The chase was up, she was caught.

She didn't even feel the sharp sting as she slammed down to the polished marble floor. She was only focused on getting away from the duo. As she crawled, a foot came out of nowhere, kicking her in the ribs. She gasped in pain, as she was rolled over due to the power of the attacker's kick.

A wide knuckled hand grasped the front of her jean jacket and lifted her up, feet dangling and toes barely touching the floor. Her terrified eyes quickly darted to the dull-looking young man holding her aloft, his face alight with cruel delight.

"You've been inviting this for so long, girl," he whispered as his large hand slapped her delicate cheek. The resounding slap echoed around the empty corridor as her face was turned to the other side.

She vaguely noted that, somehow, she had managed to land herself in an unknown part in the Physics department. Not that she was familiar with the university to begin with.

A pitiful whimper escaped her lips, much to her aggressors' delight, as another slap turned her face to the other side. She struggled, trying to distract them as she discreetly unbuttoned her jacket, slipping back on her feet. As soon as the soles of her shoes hit the solid ground, she was off like a bullet, wrenching the first door open, which so happened to be a laboratory.

She didn't even look at the 'Do Not Enter' sign as she hurtled past workbenches and stools. The laboratory, she vaguely noted was not one that was often used. All of the benches had a thin layer of dust, except the back two. She ran towards the back of the lab, praying that a hiding place would reveal itself to her.

And it seemed that someone had heard her. To her left was a metal door, quite unlike any other she had seen. It looked as if it was made of steel, however she didn't really feel the need to verify. The knob looked more like lever than knob. It was obvious just by looking at it that the door could only be opened by pulling this lever. Three narrow horizontal rectangles were equally placed in the middle of the door, with the necessary space in between. The top one was proudly showing a digital number in bright red; 1891.

Giselle looked behind her, confirming that her pursuers were still chasing her, and without a second thought pulled the lever, opened the door and jumped behind it.

The door closed of its own accord, leaving a sinister hiss in its wake. Giselle shivered, rubbing her arms as her anxiety reached an all-time-new level. Bright red lights were flashing on. Laser lights, she noted. She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, fearing damage to her eyesight and tried to make her way back to the door. Only no knob could be found.

She was trapped.

She didn't dare open her eyes, as her vision was turning red even though her closed eyelids. Half a moment later, the well oiled purr of a machine kick started to life and the floor started to turn; slowly at first and then increasing in speed. Faster and faster it went, till Giselle lost her balance and fell to the floor once again. The sting in her side, this time, was felt with a much larger intensity than normal. She tried to stand up again, but the speed was too intense. Also it seemed as if the pressure was increasing, forcing her to stay down, and crushing her.

Her head jerked back in surprise, hitting a type of hard surface with enough force to push it back slightly. The rotation went even faster and the laser lights even brighter, but Giselle knew now more.

She had lost consciousness.

**Comments? Please?**


	2. Chapter One

**I would like to thank Sandnose and Hope's Survival for their wonderful reviews. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, obviously. Otherwise I'd be famous hehe :).**

London 1891

It was one of the finest days that London could offer; as dreary and cloudy as London could offer. And the evening was as bleak as the day had been.

Two men were walking down the semi-deserted street. One was slightly taller than the other. One could say that what the shorter person lacked in height more than made up for in sharpness of mind and tongue. However, casting any shadow of dullness on the taller person would not be doing justice to either of them.

In fact, the taller person so happened to be the famous Doctor John Watson, while the shorter one was the equally famous detective Sherlock Holmes. And as was usual to them, they were arguing.

"I just can't see how cocaine use can stimulate your mind. Please enlighten me." The blue eyed doctor was saying.

"As soon as you moved out of 221B Baker Street, I'm afraid you lost all right of complaint regarding my habits, my dear doctor." Holmes said.

"Oh for goodness sake Holmes! I'm getting married-"

"But technically, you're not married yet."

"Yes, but I will marry her. You wouldn't have wanted Mary to move in with us in 221B, would you?"

Holmes didn't respond, but his expression was answer enough.

"Judging from your disgusted look, I'd conclude that you wouldn't have been very pleased." Watson said, trying to keep a straight face. "However, your tactics of making me forget our original discussion about your less than pleasant addictions did not work." He continued.

"Almost." The detective responded.

"Almost, but not quite." Watson responded.

Just at that moment, a distraction in the form of a young woman arguing with a man renowned for his quick fingers arrived.

"That is mine!" she was saying as she tried to reach for an odd black object in the man's hand. "Besides, you don't even know how to use that anyway!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm sure I'll find some university pr'fessor that'd give a nice sum for it."

"It's useless here. You won't be making much money from it."

"Lady, do I look rich to you? Even a single bloody penny would be a help!" he spat.

"Ha! As if I look rich!"

"You look a sight better than me, you do."

"Oh really? I have no money, I have no friggin' idea where I am, this is most certainly not my time and you've stolen my phone from me!" she shouted the last part and tried to jump higher to reach for the black object. However the man, being taller than her simply raised his hand higher out of her reach and smirked at her.

She stopped and seemed to calculate him for a split second.

And then without warning she stamped her foot on his bare and dirt encrusted one. A gasp of shock escaped his mouth as he bent slightly forward, however she didn't give him any chance. As quick as lightning, she rammed her knee in his diaphragm, and as expected, he bent even more. This time, it was enough for her to reach for the black object, pluck it from his hand and run.

She was running straight towards them, trying to distance herself from the-would-be thief following her. However, he, being much taller than her, was catching up rather quickly.

And it was at that moment that Sherlock Holmes decided to intervene. He grabbed the running woman's arm and pulled her behind him and his friend just as the thief's hand closed around the space where her elbow had been moments before.

He was tall, paunchy and red-haired. His clothes had certainly seen better days, as had his rotting and cracked teeth.

"Keep ou' of it, fop!" he growled as he tried to reach for the blonde woman behind them, who only ducked to avoid him.

"I'd advise you to leave. That was not your property, and stealing from a lady is not very nice, is it?" John said.

"I said, keep out of it! What's in it for you, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing at all. Except keeping my cousin safe. You wouldn't want me to call on Lestrade, would you? We're not exactly the closest of friends, but he'd be very pleased to receive my invitation." Sherlock said.

The man stopped, and looked at them with narrowed eyes.

"Who are you?" he said.

"Sherlock Holmes, private detective. And this is Doctor John Watson. How about we all go on our merry way? I'm sure you have to go and inform your criminal friends why you weren't successful in robbing the poor lady."

And with a nod of his head, Holmes turned and started walking back, closely followed by Watson.

"Come with us, he's watching and will probably follow us." Watson whispered to the young blonde woman, who only nodded and followed them, the black object safe in her hands.

"I-thanks for helping me." She said.

John was about to respond, but Sherlock was quicker than him.

"I hope you won't make a habit of it, madam."

John closed his mouth, as she raised an eyebrow.

"While I'm grateful for your help, I did not ask for it. So being stingy about help given out of free will makes no sense, sir." She bit back.

"I never said that." He replied.

"Directly, no. But indirectly that is exactly what you meant."

"Now, that's a very poor way of repaying someone who helped you out of a tight position, madam."

"I am grateful for your help. Very grateful in fact. And please stop calling me madam."

Holmes looked at her in surprise.

"If you insist on such a formal way of address, 'Miss' would be enough, sir." She said, adding the 'sir' as if in an afterthought.

It was quite clear to both Holmes and Watson that wherever she came from, polite address was not the norm.

Just as they turned a corner into Baker Street, the almost inaudible patter of feet slowed down, confirming that the red haired pursuer was still behind them, albeit at a slower pace.

They soon arrived at a house, 221B, where the detective took out a key and opened the door, closing it behind the last person. At that moment, Watson turned towards her, noticing her very obvious discomfort and nervousness.

"An hour or two here should be enough to shake him off your trail. In the meantime, I hope you'd like a cup of tea with us." John said as the young woman bit her lip and nodded, following them up the stairs.

They went into Holmes' rooms, which were as messy as ever.

"Holmes, I thought you said that you cleaned up." Watson sighed, as he sat in an armchair.

"I never said that, my dear friend. I only said that everything is in its proper place." Holmes replied, sitting into another armchair and pulling a sheaf of papers towards him.

They both looked at the young woman, who was looking at a list of the elements stuck with pins to the wall.

"That's a-"

"List of the known elements, yes I know." She said, interrupting Watson, as she turned and sat down in the last remaining armchair.

"I'm sorry, we haven't properly introduced ourselves. I'm John Watson." He said as he kissed her hand.

"And this is–"

"Sherlock Holmes, madam." The sleuth interrupted as he extended his hand and shook hers. She looked at them in surprise.

"I don't want to seem rude or anything, but...aren't Sherlock Holmes and John Watson supposed to be fictional characters?"

"I assure you, madam, just because my dear friend publishes his journals, does not mean that we are a figment of someone's imagination. We most certainly are not fictional."

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyway, forget it. I'm Giselle Elmer. I hope I'm not being a bother." She said, her nervousness apparent once again.

"Do not worry Miss Elmer, you're not." Watson replied kindly, not trusting his friend to speak.

Just at that moment, Mrs Hudson, the landlady walked in with a teapot of steaming tea and three china cups, placed them on a cluttered table and went out again.

Time passed awkwardly, with Holmes shuffling through his papers and Watson engaging Giselle in small talk. The conversation lapsed into another awkward silence, until Holmes put down his papers, stopping all pretence, and looked directly at her.

"So tell me, Miss Elmer, how did you end up in that particular part of London? While it isn't the poorest, it most certainly is not the best place for young woman to be alone." He said.

"I don't know. The last thing I remember was walking through a steel door in a physics laboratory in the university I attend. It had no knobs or any way of opening it from the inside. And then, all these flashing laser lights came on and everything started spinning and spinning and then I woke up in that street. That man, whoever he was tried to rob me, and then you came into the picture. Could you please tell me the year?"

Watson and Holmes looked at each other in surprise.

She was odd, that much could be gathered from her clothes, which seemed so out of place. But to not know the year...

"It's eighteen ninety one, Miss Elmer. Are you alright?" Watson said, frowning as her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"1891? But-" She stopped and slapped her forehead. "Eighteen ninety one, the number on the door! Dear God, how could I have been so stupid?" she whispered to herself.

She looked up. Her eyes were wide and she had gone white. Noticing their looks of curiousness, she said "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try us." Holmes said, with half a smile on his lips.

She took a shuddering breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

"There's a project going on in the physics department of the university I mentioned. They, that is to say the physicists, were trying to develop a machine that would take a person back in time. It works, only there is no way of going back once you step in. I must have activated it. Christ, what am I going to do?" she said, murmuring the last part to herself as she rubbed her eyes as if in exhaustion.

Sherlock leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"That's rather unbelievable. How do we know you're not lying?"

"Why should I lie?" he shrugged.

"Do I look as if I belong here? Have you ever seen any clothes like mine? Or better yet, have you ever seen anything remotely like this?"

She pulled out the black object that was almost stolen from her pocket and handed it to them. It was smooth and shiny and had a small button for each letter of the alphabet.

"It's called a mobile phone. It's very much like a portable telephone. Graham has already invented it, hasn't he?" she said as Watson nodded in confirmation.

She sighed and put her face in her hands. The situation was awkward enough without the revelation that the physics department's project had worked.

John looked towards the mantelpiece, where a clock was standing.

"I'm afraid I have to leave. I have dinner with the in-laws, and I really don't want to be late. It was nice meeting you, Miss Elmer. I hope your situation improves in the near future." He said as he stood up and put on his coat and hat.

"It was nice meting you too, doctor and thanks again for your help." She replied, looking up.

"I'll walk you down to the door." Sherlock said as he stood up and, after knocking a pile of papers to the floor, hurried after his friend out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

"You're leaving me alone with her?" He hissed as he followed John down the stairs.

"I'm sure that you're more than able to handle her." John replied as he opened the door and stepped out.

He looked back at his friend.

"Besides, some company might do you well, Holmes."

**So, what do you think? Liked it? Hated it? Let me know in the reviews!**


	3. Chapter Two

**Hello again. My thanks this time goes to ****Outlaw-Lanaya****, Hope's Survival, Stargazer1364 and BlooperLover ****for the wonderful reviews. Thank you! They really really help!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

Sherlock Holmes was sitting opposite Giselle Elmer, his fingers drumming on the armchair's arm.

"I'm still not quite sure if I believe you or not." He said.

She looked up from her phone and sighed.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm not lying."

She put down the phone on the table.

"Tell you what, why don't you analyse me and see what conclusion you can come up with? You'll see that I'm telling the truth." She said as she crossed her arms and legs. Her lip twitched as if she was about to smile when he leaned forward and drunk in her appearance.

"Let's see, you're nervous. You're either afraid that I'm about to catch you in a lie or reach the wrong conclusion. Your hair colour, its' fake. The natural colour is lighter. Your nails are painted. And your clothes are in very good condition. However, the slight discolouration at the end of the left sleeve shows that they're not new. They're also industrially produced; the name of the factory was visible on the back pocket. I'm inclined to believe that you're vain."  
He stopped and scratched his chin slightly, his eyes roving over her hands.

"You're a scholar, studying sciences, I believe. I dare say that you love science; you were smiling slightly when you saw my elements' list. You know how to write, and therefore how to read. You've also written something today; you have ink stains on your right index finger which also shows that you're right handed. Slight yellow staining of the right hand fingers, you smoke. You're confident, I could gather that much from the way you speak and I wouldn't be surprised if you're also ambitious. That being said, you'd have no time for relationships and I wouldn't be surprised to find some selfish characteristics."  
His eyes shifted back to her face.

" Red mark on the cheeks in the shape of a hand, you've been in a fight today and ended being slapped. Odd person, very odd; hair is cut in a way I've never seen, clothes are alien and you have strange contraptions. The idea that you belong to another time, although farfetched, is plausible."

She nodded.

"Yes, you got everything right."

"Interesting conception, I wonder, would you mind telling me of the advances the world made? What year did you say you're from?" he said as he took his pipe and put it in his mouth.

"Two thousand and twelve."

"Quite the age gap." He said, as he extinguished the match he had used.  
She rubbed the back of her neck.

Somehow Sherlock didn't strike her as the type to be content with few details, so she decided to speak about something that she was familiar with.

"Has the DNA been discovered yet? The substance found in a cell's nucleus?"

"Ah, nuclein. I knew that Swiss scientist was on to some great discovery. Please, carry on." He said as he settled back in his armchair, smoking the tobacco in his pipe.

She knew it was going to be one long talk.

***

Giselle couldn't say how she had ended up discussing DNA Profiling with Sherlock Holmes, or how it helps investigations, or about the first case that was solved using this technique.

However, what she could say was that she was pleased that she managed to impress him. She looked out of the window, as Holmes was ruminating over what she had said about the DNA Profiling being also used as paternity testing, to see that the sky had darkened considerably.

"It's getting late. Thank you, Mr Holmes for your hospitality. I'm sorry for imposing. Is it possible if you could give me the directions for the nearest convent or nunnery?" She said as she stood up. He blinked as he came out of his reverie and put down his pipe.

"The nearest is in Lisson Grove. But it is too far to walk safely in the evening." He replied as he stood up and went to the window overlooking the street.

"Well, I have to spend the night somewhere. Better in a nunnery than outside."

"You do know you're going to be followed, I presume?" he said as he turned to look at her, hands behind his back.

"Followed? You mean to say he's still waiting outside?" she said as she stood up and walked over to the window as best she could, considering the several obstacles in her way.  
"Yes, and he doesn't look very pleased, does he?"

"Is there a back door I can use? Or maybe a window I can climb out of without being seen?"  
"You'll have to pass by him to get to the Convent of Mercy, madam. And seeing as almost everyone is safely at home, as is customary, he'd assume that the lone person walking down the street, whatever the disguise, would be you."

"Great." She muttered sarcastically as she peered out of the window again, shrinking back in the shadows as he looked up.

"Besides, it seems as if I've earned enemies during the course of my career. And seeing as you're my 'cousin', I'm afraid that you'd be targeted just as much as me, if not more."  
Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Me? But, I mean he can't be after me because of you. At least he wasn't. If he he's in a gang that's after you than, well...then I don't know."

"Quite, so my dear lady. Only one way to know, we ask Watson whether he saw anything unusual. Until then, I suggest you stay where it is safest; here."

She stared at him, until she realised, coughed uncomfortably and turned, sitting back in the armchair as his eyes followed her every movement.

"I'm really so sorry for intruding, Mr Holmes." She sighed.

He narrowed his eyes as he observed the uncomfortable young woman in his rooms.

She wasn't very tall, had a slim physique and her features were very delicate.

Her sharp eyes were a bluish grey, the colour of the sea during a storm. He wondered what secrets she kept hidden behind her piercing eyes.

Her lips were a light pink and looked as soft as petals.

And her satin like blonde hair hung in soft curly ribbons around her heart shaped face.

Usually he wouldn't have allowed a stranger in his rooms. But there was something intriguing in her, in her personality, in her claiming of belonging to another time.

He wondered what it was, what challenge she was about to offer.

Without a word to the distressed woman, he hurried towards the door, a pair of grey eyes following him as an empty ink bottle fell to the floor.

He picked up his coat and hat and hurried down the stairs, banging the door behind him.  
Giselle sighed as her head dropped in her hands.

"Now what am I going to do?" she whispered to herself.

***

The air was cool and refreshing against Sherlock's cheeks and senses.

Usually, in such a situation, he would have gone to the boxing ring, however, this night he preferred the solitude of London's almost completely deserted streets. It helped a lot in clearing his cluttered mind.

He wondered; had the young woman, currently alone in his rooms, been sent there by someone? Or was she telling the truth?

While she was talking, he couldn't detect any signs of lying. She was either telling the truth or was a very good actress. That thought brought unbidden memories to his mind, and he grimaced as the face of another woman drifted into his head.  
Was he dealing another Irene Adler?

If so he had been most unwise in leaving her alone in his rooms. In fact, the best course of action would have been to leave her to her own devices in the streets. On the other hand, if she proved to be innocent...and at that moment his train of thought faded away.

There was no denying it; Giselle Elmer was intelligent, courageous and bright. He could gather that much when she was talking.

And he was waiting for Watson to tell him that he would stop taking part in their investigations. He knew that that would be a blow for him.

It wasn't that he wasn't confident enough to continue his line of work alone; far from it.  
But, as much as it pained him to admit it, two heads were better than one. And it was always much better and safer to work as a duo.

What if he trained her to take Watson's place when he stopped taking part in detective work? That is, if indeed she was as she claimed to be.

He stopped and turned his way back to the building he had just left.  
He knew what he was going to do.

He was going to observe her, pass her through tests to see whether she was there to deceive him. If she passed, he was going to make her his assistant in the cases he chose.  
And this time, he would not let his emotions blind him.

A small smile played on his lips as he opened the door and jogged up the stairs.  
If she worked with him, the price for his services would not decrease, and life would go unhindered.

He opened the door and walked back inside to where he had left her. Giselle was sitting on the rug by the fire. Her legs were curled beneath her and Gladstone was asleep beside her. Her hand was resting lightly on his head, and she was leaning against the armchair, fast asleep.  
Her blonde hair was partly covering her face and her cheeks had a pinkish tinge. Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed softly. She looked so vulnerable; curled up against the armchair and asleep. He frowned; it seemed as if it would not be as unhindered as he first thought.

Well, at the very least he'd still be able to pay rent for his home.

**What do you think? Please let me know in the reviews!**

**Outlaw-Lanaya****, Hope's Survival, Stargazer1364 and BlooperLover**


	4. Chapter Three

**Holla! How are you people? I'm literally drowning in work. So much to do, so little time! Anyway, here's the next chapter for you, I hope you like it.**

**Oh and thanks goes to Stargazer1364, Outlaw-Lanaya, Anonymous and Hope's Survival.**

**Reply to Anonymous.**

**Thanks a lot for your review! It means so much to me! I'll upload and update the story as quickly as I can. But unfortunately, real life is keeping me too busy :/. Keep in tune though, I promise I won't abandon my story ;).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes; only the plot of this story and the original characters.**

Giselle shifted slightly and sighed.

She was warm; so very warm and comfortable. She had forgotten when she had last felt this warmth. She was wrapped in a blanket and just by shifting slightly; she could tell that she was on a bed.

And she knew that it wasn't her bed. Her bed was never this comfortable, either because of the lumpy old mattress or because a pair of small kicking feet kept her awake during the night. The lack of movement of the small feet brought a frown to Giselle's previously smooth face.

Where was her five year old brother, Ed?

Usually he always slept beside her because he was afraid of their father especially when in one of his drunken rages.

Not that he had ever hurt Ed.

The only victim was always Giselle, Ed was far too precious. Still, he was terrified of their father. So where was he?

Giselle moved her hand around, trying to find him. The bed felt bigger, and she remembered that she wasn't in her room. So where was she?

Her eyes snapped open and they drank in the room she was in. It was dimly lit seeing as the dark blue curtains were still drawn across the window. And the room was decorated in a Victorian style, although the decorations were quite sparse.

The previous day's memories came back to her in a rush, leaving her breathless.

Her head swam and her heart rate increased. Her breath came in short gasps as her hands bunched into the blanket covering her legs. She threw it off her, unable to sit still, and stood, hands clenching and unclenching rapidly as she paced beside the bed. Her hands ran through her cropped hair, pulling it back away from her face as she turned and sat down again.

Her thoughts were all jumbled; muddled and incoherent. Thoughts such as "What am I going to do? I have to get back!" And "Oh God, Ed! How can he cope all alone?" And "I'm missing lectures at university!" were running amok through her muddled mind.

She hurried back to the bed side table and picked up her phone, trying to phone her friend, Audrey. But to no avail.

"Of course; she's not alive yet. Her phone is not here."

She sat on the bed, her head in her hands, and tried to clear her mind; remove all thought from it. She opened her eyes and looked around her again.

She had slept in front of Sherlock Holmes' fireplace, while talking to his dog; Gladstone if she wasn't mistaken. She had fallen asleep at a man's house, someone who she only knew by name and had previously thought to be purely fictional.

She had travelled back in time, while trying to escape two bullies, an d by doing so abandoned her small brother in a world where there was no one to care for him. She didn't have a way to get back.

She had no money, nowhere to stay, no one to help her adjust to her new life. Her heart sunk even more as the two most pressing thoughts became even clearer. She was never going to see her brother again. And she could kiss her dream goodbye; doctors who were women were very rare in Victorian times.

A single tear escaped her eye, and she wiped at it furiously, making up her mind as she stood up and started pacing again.

She would find a job and find place where she could stay, until she gathered enough money to buy a small cottage or house somewhere or share a rented flat with someone. The latter option seemed much more viable.

But first, she had to ask for help.

She sighed and sat again on the bed. She only knew Holmes and Watson, and already felt embarrassed due to their help.

She was a proud person, she admitted to herself, and needing help would be a severe blow. Asking for it would mean swallowing her pride.

Another thought popped into her head as she remembered another memory.

She was, most probably, in danger. Holmes was one intelligent detective, and she knew that he had put many a man behind bars. And it was logical and obvious that he had a lot of people, who would love to see him, or someone close to him, suffer. The previous day he had introduced her to London's underworld as his cousin, thus bringing her into the firing range.

The man who tried to rob her had no intention of aiming at Sherlock Holmes, whatsoever. But he was desperate for money, and information was just as valuable as objects, if not more.

She may not have been as intelligent as Holmes, but she was no idiot. By now, the criminal underworld was buzzing with the news of the odd detective's equally odd cousin.

She sighed as she put on her shoes quickly, stood up and did the bed quickly. There was only one thing she could do, she decided, as she steeled her spine and turned towards the slightly open door.

She walked out of the bedroom and looked around the only slightly familiar landing. Her eyes travelled to a door, which was also slightly ajar. She could hear someone playing the violin from that room, and she knew that it was Holmes.

Giselle, silently, walked over to the room and knocked.

Holmes turned to look at her, putting down his violin. She frowned at the carpet and crossed her arms, feeling awkward.

"I need your help." She stated as she looked up, her frown still etched on her face.

"You can speak to Mrs Hudson about the rent." He said as he turned back to his violin.  
Her mouth dropped open.

"I know you're Sherlock Holmes and that you have amazing deductive abilities. But how did you know what I was going to say?"

"You woke up this morning in a strange place, in a time that is not yours, according to you. You have nothing and no one here, as you so explicitly said to the thief yesterday. Therefore you need a place to stay. Either buy a small house or find a couple of rooms. Buying a house is too expensive for you, so you'd take the second option. Preferably with a roommate, that way it would be cheaper."

She nodded.

"And what else am I thinking about?"

He turned again and looked into her veiled eyes.

"You need a job. You don't like to be dependent on someone else, definitely not the type to get married, at least not now. I could gather that much from yesterday."

She shook her head; still unable to believe that he had just told summarized all her thoughts in half a minute. "Amazing." She muttered, still amazed.

He shrugged and simply said "Elementary."

She shook her head as if to clear it.

"Well? Are you helping me or not?" she said.

He motioned with his head towards the unoccupied armchair and said one simple word. "Sit."

He walked towards the large window, observing the busy street, before turning to look at her. She noticed an odd gleam in his eyes, and she couldn't tell whether it was good or bad.

"How do you feel about detective work?" Her jaw dropped open for the second time that morning.

"Did you say-"

"Detective work? Yes. You'll need training of course." He said as he walked back towards her. He sat on the armchair opposite her, put down the violin on the cluttered coffee table and put his fingertips together as he observed her.

"What kind of training are we talking about?"

"Deductive skills, disguise, defence, problem solving, general knowledge; anything you'll need. What do you think?"

She looked at him with narrow eyes.

"Why are you offering this?" She asked. "Why would you offer a woman that you don't know somewhere where to live and offer her a job with you?"

"I need an assistant and a roommate. You happened to be first one I considered worthy."

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"I may not be as intelligent as you, Mr Holmes. But I am no idiot. You don't know me, so why are you offering all this? What is your motive?"

"That is easily rectified. Tell me all about yourself." He said as he settled himself back and crossed his legs.

"Why should I when you can deduce everything by yourself?"

"Yes, I can. But I want you to tell me."

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. She knew that he was doing all this for a reason, what she didn't know was why. He didn't strike her as a man that would deliberately put a woman in danger. But then again, she didn't know him.

"What is your motive?" she replied slowly and quietly.

"I simply want a roommate and an assistant. I am not lying to you; I swear on my honour." He said, highly amused. She calculated him once again. The fact that he didn't say I am not going to betray you was not lost on her. Still, he was her only chance.

He and Watson were the only people whom she knew and had helped her. If he were to betray, he would already have done so. Although why he should betray her, she didn't know. After all she had only just arrived. She took a shuddering breath and started her tale.

"Ask me, and I'll answer." She said.

"How did you end up here?"

"I was about to start a course. I want to become a doctor. It's my life's ambition. I-wanted to escape unwanted attentions and walked through a door in a physics lab by mistake, which happened to be the time machine." She stopped and shrugged. "You know the rest."

He nodded and looked at her lightly bruised cheek. "You were escaping the people responsible for your bruises." He stated.

She nodded, frowning.

"Why?" he asked.

"There's no need to know. They're not here. You have my word, it's not my fault."

"So you're a victim?"

She nodded as a response.

He stroked his chin as he regarded her.

"Tell me about your family."

"I am the oldest child. I have a younger brother; five years old. My mother died during childbirth and my father, well, he died with her. He's a dead man walking, not supportive. My only family, you could say, is Edward, my only brother."

She broke off and looked at the window, her eyes suddenly glittering.

"And he's all alone. I-he won't be able to cope."

She stopped and sighed.

"I just hope that Audrey will realize something's wrong and get him out of the house before he's too scarred emotionally and mentally."

"So your father's abusive." He stated again as she nodded and turned to look at him.

"I'm not searching for sympathy Mr Holmes, but I did not have an easy childhood. My mother was a sickly person and my father's attentions were almost always solely on her. I had to make my way alone, and when my brother was born I was the one to raise him. For five years, he's been like a son to me. He's the closest person that I will ever have in my time on earth."

Holmes nodded and looked out the window, observing the cloudy sky.

"You're not telling me everything." He said finally.

"I've told you all you need to know Mr Holmes. I'm still entitled to some privacy, am I not?"

He ignored her question and asked another of his own.

"What do you think of my proposition?"

She sighed.

"I'll doubt I'll find a better offer. Detective work; it's much better than being a maid." Her face twisted with disgust as she said the word 'maid'. "Or nanny."

"Yes, Mr Holmes. I'll take the offer, on the condition that I am not used as an experiment, to prove a point or betrayed." She said.

"You have my word; I'll keep my end of the bargain if you keep yours. What applies to me applies to you."

He stood up suddenly and walked to the window.

"Ah, there's our dear doctor on his way."

Needless to say, John was not at all convinced with Holmes' ideas; not that Sherlock was very explicit with his reasoning.

"Of all the ideas that you had to come out with...what happened to your 'need for privacy'? And 'any presence hindering your process of thought'?" John sighed, as they walked from the baker back to 221B.

"Hardly, my dear Watson. It's not as if I am about to spill my life's secrets to Miss Elmer."

"Holmes, you hardly ever allow Mrs Hudson into your rooms, and you know her pretty well. How are you going to allow a woman you hardly know into your confidence? Need I remind you what happened the last time you trusted such a woman?"

Holmes' face hardened into an unreadable mask.

"There's no need to remind me of such memories, Watson. And all this is to ensure that Miss Elmer is not another Irene Adler."

"What about rent? How is she going to pay?"

"By finding an occupation, of course."

John sighed as he looked tiredly at his friend.

"There is no convincing you otherwise, is there?"

Sherlock smiled as he stepped to the side to avoid a small puddle of muddy water.

"No chance at all, my dear friend."

He purposefully left out that he had offered to train her as a fellow detective assistant.

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. Keep the reviews coming, they're free love ;). Till next time then :).**


	5. Chapter Four

**I am so so sorry for the delay! (exams can be a bitch). But anyway. MY thanks for the reviews go to Chaz, Outlaw-Lanaya, Stargazer1364, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, Suzie.**

**Replies to:**

**Chaz:**

**I am so glad you like my story so much! I hope this chapter is to your liking as well. Thanks for your review!**

**Suzie:**

**Hi, thanks for your review, first of all. You are quite right, a woman would not be a medical student in Victorian times (most likely, Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman doctor, got her degree before Holmes' time, just so you know) and the hair would not be short either. However, I suggest you read more than the first two lines of the prologue. The main character was not from Victorian times, that are why she ended needing Holmes' help. It's too long to explain. Just read the story, if you want to. I assure you, I do my research quite well.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

Time passed, slowly but steadily, like a sluggish snail in a haze. The days turned into weeks, and before Giselle knew it, a month had already passed.  
She had anticipated a difficult and challenging path in front of her, especially with Holmes as her tutor.

And she thrived where challenges were present.

And she was eager to start.

Her initial excitement, however, soon changed to lethargy. Whatever she had imagined certainly had not been what she received. As the days passed, Sherlock locked himself in his rooms more and more, until he didn't even step out for days on end.

Giselle had nothing to do.

Nothing, except helping Mrs Hudson around the house, which was not a favourite past time of hers.

She liked the kind little old lady, but cleaning and keeping up a household was not an activity that Giselle particularly enjoyed. The only thing that came out of it was that Mrs Hudson simply refused to take any rent from Giselle.

Not that she had any money to begin with.

Still, she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Giselle could swear that Mrs Hudson was her guardian angel incarnated. But she knew she couldn't remain dependant on the old lady forever.

She had to find a job. She cringed at working what was stereotypically a 'woman's job'. She longed to become a doctor with all her heart. But she knew that her dream was next to impossible. Even though she did not want to, she had to search for a job; if only to be able to clothe herself.

So, after spending exactly a month in the year 1891, she borrowed a simple blue dress that used to belong to Mrs Hudson's daughter, did her hair in a small simple bun and went out searching for a job.

Technically speaking, she had only one place in mind, one that Mrs Hudson had told her about. A husband of an old friend of Mrs Hudson's needed a shop assistant. He had quite a successful bookshop, full with shelves of books from top to bottom. And it was his successfulness that made the arthritic old man search for an assistant.

***

Joseph Flint, the owner of the bookshop, was more than surprised at the 'helper' that Mrs Hudson sent. She had promised that the worker was 'intelligent, hard working and open minded; a true book lover with vast experience in books.'

Needless to say, he removed the 'Help Wanted' sign from the window and waited patiently for the future assistant to arrive. Not long after his decision to remove the sign, a young woman walked into his shop.

He sighed. Joseph had hoped that the worker would have arrived before the first customer. But it seemed as if the worker would arrive late. He stood up and turned towards the blonde woman.

"How may I help you, madam?" he asked.

Her bluish grey eyes found his.

"Good morning, sir. May I speak to Mr Flint, please?" she replied. He nodded, indicating that he was the person she was searching for.

"Mr Flint, my name is Giselle Elmer. I was told that you needed an assistant by Mrs Hudson. I presume Mrs Hudson mentioned something?"

To say that he was shocked was an understatement.

"I-I was expecting a man." He stuttered. She raised an eyebrow.

"Surely Mrs Hudson didn't portray me as such?"

"She said that you were open-minded with experience in books."

She nodded.

"I can confirm that what she said is all true, sir. Am I to understand that this is because of my gender?"

He looked in her eyes. They were shielded; veiled. Nothing was shown. But even through her veils, it was obvious that she was educated, in a way that other women were not.

"Come with me. Let's discuss our business in further comfort, madam." He said as he locked the door and put up the 'Closed' sign.

Flint walked behind a large bookshelf where a small door was hidden, leading to a small quaint cosy sitting room.

The window was open and the cool September breeze was fluttering around the fringed hems of the heavy curtains, which were a light blue colour. The curtains were drawn and what sunlight was present was pouring through the slightly open window.

The mahogany couches with muted dirty blue upholstery were made also of a heavy make. The carvings of the heavy furniture in the room were exquisite; roses were entwined with flowers and wheat stalks in an eternal embrace.

Or at least for as long as the furniture withstood the heavy hand of time.

"Please sit." Mr Flint said as he lowered himself slowly on the comfortable couch. Giselle seated herself on the couch opposite the coffee table in between them.

He stared at her for only a moment before he asked her the first question.

"I apologise if I seem rude, madam. But I wonder, what made you want to search for a job?" he said.

"Because, I need the money to live, sir."

"If you don't mind my asking, why now? Again, I apologise if I am being intrusive, but you understand, I need to know who I'm employing."

Giselle nodded to show that she understood.

"At present times, I happen to find myself in need to support myself, seeing as my family is no longer able to support me. And I do not believe in a marriage for convenience." She said.

Mr Flint nodded and looked at his hands in thought. He looked back up at her, staring in her veiled blue grey eyes.

"Mrs Hudson also said that you have extensive knowledge in dealing with books and intelligence. Would you mind explaining, madam?"

Giselle bowed her head.

"Mrs Hudson is kind in her compliments." She said softly.

She looked back up. "By extensive knowledge, I think she is referring to my studies and to the fact that I love books."

"Really? And what kind of books do you enjoy mostly?"

"Almost everything, sir."

"Would you mind naming some authors?"

"Of course not. Thomas Hardy, George Elliot, Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Poe are some from this century. But if a person was looking for a classic; I would suggest authors such as Shakespeare or Homer. Not that this century's authors aren't good enough. On the contrary, they are quite gifted."  
He stared at her in amazement. "You really like books, don't you?"

"Yes sir. I also tried my hand at writing, if it is not too imprudent to say. "

He leaned forward, clearly interested.

"That's interesting Madame. What kind of stories, if I may ask?"

"Oh, they were really general, a little bit of everything. But if I had to give a rough genre I would go for adventure with a dab of science."

His eyebrows rose even higher.

"Not what I expected, but I have to say, I am rather intrigued. Would it be too impolite if I were curious enough to ask to read a story of yours?"

"I would love to. But unfortunately the manuscripts were lost."

He nodded to himself.

"Pity. Yes, you're good enough. You can start today if you want to. Do you have any other engagements? I can show you around and teach you how everything works around here." He said.

***

Giselle's face was split into a smile as she closed the door behind her that evening. She was beyond happy that she managed to find a job that even though it lacked the challenge that she loved, at least, dealt with something she loved dearly.

Giselle found Mrs Hudson, as expected, in the sitting room, mending a handkerchief. She smiled and opened her mouth to give the news to Mrs Hudson. However, the voice that rang throughout the sitting room did not belong to her, but to Sherlock Holmes.

"Miss Elmer, please come up, if you don't mind." He said.

Giselle closed her mouth and sighed. Before she turned towards the stairs she looked at Mrs Hudson and smiled. "I got the job." She said, as Mrs Hudson smiled in reply and a few moments later she found herself seated in Holmes' couch in his ever messy room.

Her eyes followed him as he paced, avoiding the clutter expertly. "Your first assignment is tonight." He said suddenly as he stopped and looked directly at her.

She frowned.

"Assignment, as in what we spoke about two months ago?" he nodded in response.

"But I have no idea what to do, seeing as I had no proper training." She replied.

"Yes, I am aware of that fact Miss Elmer, which is why I will be setting you a relatively simple task. I want you to get as much information about a certain Captain Basil as possible."

She sighed. She could tell that it was going to be a long night.

**Any reviews? Please?**


	6. Chapter Five

**I am so so sorry for the long wait. I know you're getting tired of the usual excuses, but I'm really really busy at the moment. Anyway, my thanks go to HollyFire, Stargazer1364, kogouma, Sapphire1991, Frostivy for their lovely comments. Thanks you! Thank you for your patience!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. **

Giselle sighed as she ran a hand through her golden locks in frustration and paced in her bedroom.

She couldn't believe the man had the gall to send her on a mission without even one word of advice. All she could get out of Holmes was the location of where Captain Basil would be spending the night and that he was not an authority figure but a trader.

She had no idea how to approach Captain Basil.

She threw herself on her bed and frowned at the ceiling, hoping that inspiration would hit her soon.

She wondered about how she would approach the Captain.

She knew she couldn't force him to give her information by brute force; she simply wasn't strong enough. And anyway, Sherlock had not been specific as to what information she had to bring.

So she concluded that he wanted general information, such as about his trips to and from England, his trading business and maybe, if he was drunk enough, even information about his personal life. She stood up and started pacing once again.

So she had to ensure that she kept him in a busy way with alcohol and hope that it loosened his mouth.

She wondered as to how she would obtain the information about his voyages, and the answer came to her like light from a light bulb.

"By posing as a young man applying for a job, of course." She said as she turned towards the door and hurried out of her room.

Her stride was quick as she made her way to Sherlock's room and knocked quickly, her fidgeting betraying her impatience. She could swear that she heard a whispered curse amidst the shuffling of papers and tinkle of breaking glass and a moment later the door opened a few centimetres.

A bright brown eye peered out at her and from the slight frown that she could detect in Sherlock's face she could conclude that he was annoyed at the disturbance. However, Giselle paid no heed to his irritation. After all, she decided, it was his fault for dropping the situation on her instead of preparing her for it. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to articulate her reason for disturbing him.

"I was wondering, about this Basil fellow of yours. Do you know if he's looking for new additions to his crew?" she asked.

"Maybe, why?"

"Just planning for tonight." She stopped and shuffled, staring at her bare feet in discomfort.

"I presume that you have more requests to make of me?"

She looked up at him and nodded.

"Come in," he said as he opened the door wide enough for her go through and motioned towards his cluttered couch.

She sat at the edge, trying to avoid all the papers and books he had piled.

"I need to borrow some clothes. Men's clothes." She said, adding the last part as he was about to question her.

A slight chuckle escaped his lips, drawing her attention to his small crooked smile.

"Cross dressing?" he said as he picked up a pair of clean breeches and a crisp white shirt from a small rickety table, half hidden in the shadows. It almost seemed as if he had anticipated her asking him for male clothes.

Her gray eyes quickly scanned the overly messy room. She caught sight of a stained slightly faded green coat on a chair near the window and a black waistcoat with dull buttons almost entirely buried underneath a pile of heavy books. She quickly concluded that he had been waiting for her to ask him for clothes.

"Working on my disguise." She replied as she took the clothes he handed her.

She bit her lip, even more uncomfortable at what she was going to ask for next.

"You may borrow the money beside that lamp." He said, seeing her discomfort and guessing the reason.

Giselle's relief must have showed in her expression, because his lips twitched again in a slight smile.

"Thank you." She whispered as she stood up and turned to go out, taking the money with her.

"Miss Elmer, you should take this with you." Sherlock said as he took a pistol and handed it to her.

She stared at the fire arm in his hand, her delicate eyebrows meeting in a frown. Her gray eyes met his brown ones, trying to find a hint of humour in his seriousness.

"Is it that dangerous?" she said finally.

"You never know, that is why you always have to be prepared." He replied, as she took the pistol from his hand. She looked at it, noting how the light played on its metallic surface. She swallowed and nodded, holding the pistol as if it was about to burst into flames as she turned and walked out of his room and back to hers.

She quickly stripped and put on Holmes' clothes and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her hair still looked very much like a woman's; it was too curly and lustrous to belong to a boy. She looked down at the trousers' pockets and put her hand in them, hoping to find a piece of string.

Luck was on her side as she felt a piece of twine entangling with her long delicate fingers in the first pocket she searched, and again she wondered if Holmes had guessed right for the second time. Giselle knew that she should have expected it, but she was impressed nonetheless.

She quickly shook her hair and braided it, thanking her luck that the short braid looked just like a boy's with hair longer than usual.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, scrutinizing everything she saw.

Her slim frame and too large clothes contributed to her looking more boyish than usual, but her breasts destroyed every attempt. She searched in the pockets again, wondering if Sherlock had guessed this problem as well. And this time a small roll of fabric met her searching fingers.

She quickly discarded the uncomfortable corset from underneath the shirt she was wearing and bound her breasts. This time, the sight that greeted her in the mirror was that of a too clean boy with feminine facial features and a curly blond short plait.

Now, all she had to do was fabricate a story to the identity of her disguise and smudge her face, hands and feet with dirt.

She threw herself on the bed once more, the cogs in her head whirring at full speed, this time to come up with a convincing story.

The evening progressed and the flaming setting sun disappeared to give space for the marble moon.

The light it cast bathed London in its silver glow, making the city look like a scene out of a dream. However, Giselle could not stop to admire the night's beauty.

The light breeze ruffled her tattered old skirt, which she had managed to convince Mrs Hudson to lend her. She drew the cape, this time belonging to Holmes, tighter around her, hiding her golden plait and her bare feet as she hurried towards _The Ale House_, a tavern where, according to Holmes, Captain Basil would be spending the night.

It was quite close to Baker Street. However, her refusal to step out doors for two months had rendered her incapable of mapping out that particular area in London.

She shivered and drew the threadbare cape even tighter around her, risking the thin cape tearing in two.

Giselle heard the raucous laughter coming from the tavern before she saw it, so she slipped behind a corner, where she removed the skirt and cape and searched around for dirt. The mud beneath her feet was more than enough, however, as she felt the dirt squishing around her bare toes she shuddered in disgust. And she knew that no matter what, she'd never be able to put that on her face.

She sighed, as she rested her forehead and hand against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. And that was when she opened her eyes quickly. She removed herself from the wall as if burned, and examined her hand. The lamp was too far away for her to be too sure, but she thought she saw a slight smear of dirt; barely noticeable, but perfect for what she wanted.

A moment later, she walked out from behind the corner with her hands and face slightly dirty and her feet muddy. She swallowed and frowned as she saw walked towards the tavern, her discomfort increasing.

She hated being unprepared for anything, and at that particular moment she felt the most unprepared she had ever been in her life.

The weight of the pistol, which was tied to her leg inside the too large trousers, increased her discomfort. She had no idea how to use it and the idea of asking Holmes to show her how made her cringe. She knew she needed someone to show her how to use it, but her pride wouldn't let her.

The doors wood was rough against her skin as she pushed open _The Ale House's_ wooden door. The stink of alcohol, unwashed bodies and tobacco almost choked her, but she willed herself not to make a fool out of herself and hurried down the three steps and into the tavern.

She was in a room with a low ceiling, which was stained with the excessive amount of smoking. The small windows were open. The curtains that concealed what occurred in the tavern were made of a heavy faded grey material, patterned with small blue flowers. The tables where the customers were seated were simple and unelaborated. Their tops were scratched and it was obvious that they were quite old, but they were sturdy and of good quality.

The customers were mainly men. She could tell from their clothing that they were not rich men. However, they were not so shabbily dressed to be considered poor either. No one was looking at her, so after wiping her feet on the rug in front of the door, she hurried towards the counter and sat herself on a high stool.

A young man, not older than twenty two, who was wiping a glass with a clean cloth looked at her, waiting for her order. "Ale, please." She said, trying to deepen her voice to hide her femininity.

He nodded, and a moment later she found herself staring at a mug of frothing ale. The barman continued wiping his dry glass, staring at her with his green eyes all the time.

His skin was pale and his freckles stood out even though the light emitted by the kerosene lamps was dim and his forehead was covered by his shaggy matted red hair.

"New around these parts, boy?" he said. His voice was as frail and reedy as his appearance. Giselle nodded her head, as she sipped some of the ale in her mug. She looked at her drink, trying to escape his questioning eyes, her mind buzzing and plotting on how to find Captain Basil.

And that was when it hit her; she looked up, directly to the barman and motioned him to move closer with her fingers.

"What's your name?" she asked; her voice normal. He stared at her, his jaw going slack. The glass almost slipped out of his fingers, but he managed to catch it right before it fell.

"Are you a he or a she?" he asked.

She chuckled.

"I'm a woman. But right now, I'm a man." She said as she winked.

"Um sure. My name's Simon." He said as he extended his hand.

"Mine's Lucy. But for tonight, I'm Peter." She replied.

Simon's mouth twitched as if about to smile. He put down the glass and extended his hand towards her.

"Nice to meet you, Pete." He said, as she chuckled.

A slight chuckle escaped her lips as she raised her drink to her mouth, taking another sip.

"Simon, I need your help." She said, as she looked up again at the barman, who was wiping another glass. He nodded to show that he was listening.

"This stays between us. Do you know of a certain Captain Basil?"

He put down the glass and rested his arms on the bar separating them, resting his chin on two fingers.

"Captain Basil, you say? Why yes, I know him. He comes to _The Ale House_ sometimes. Nice fellow. Always pays for 'is drinks and never starts a fight. He's not one to back down though." He said as he stepped back and took another glass.

Giselle nodded and busied herself with her drink again.

"You know 'im?" he asked.

Giselle looked back up.

"No. Not really. But I need to talk to him about something tonight. Do you know at what time he's supposed to come?"

"I don't know if he's coming, lad. Rumour has it; he his crew's troubling him."

Her curiosity was piqued and her ears were wide open.

"What happened?"

"Last night, one of his sailors said that he's firing the ship's cook. He was caught stealing and it seemed as if he had been going at it for months. Now the Captain's busy trying to keep his crew from ripping the cook's throat out long enough to convince them that the cook will give retribution. Problem is they're due to sail tomorrow morning. And I'm not sure they'll be able to settle the scores by that time, do you?"

She nodded and scratched her head.

"Well, that's put a hitch in my plans." She muttered frowning at her ale.

"Anything I can help with?"Simon said.

"Well you could help." She said tentatively as she looked up at him.

"Tell me about him, this Basil character. Anything you know or think about him."

He frowned and opened his mouth to say something.

"Why?"

"It's better if I don't tell you. Don't worry, it's not illegal and most probably I'll tell you in the future." She said, trying to reassure him. However, his frown remained.

"He won't get into trouble, will he?"

"No, I don't think so."

His frown still remained in place as he took another glass and started wiping it.

"I don't know." He muttered.

"Come on, please Simon? Look, there aren't a lot of people. Take a break; I'll buy you a drink. And I'll keep quiet about where I got my information." She said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Simon bit his lip and turned to look at the small curtained door in the corner. "Oh alright, fine." He grumbled as he fixed a drink for himself, wiped his hands on a grubby cloth and sat on a stool next to her.

"What do you want to know?"

"This Captain Basil, what is his full name? Where is he from?"

Simon shrugged as he took a long drink.

"I don't know. Everyone just refers to him as Captain Basil or the Captain. Now that I think about it, we hardly know anything about him. Doesn't seem shady though. He's from Whitechapel, you know the area where Jack the Ripper used to attack the women?"

"He used to live there? Or was he born in those areas?"

"I don't know. He said his father was born there, no mention of his mother. Doesn't seem to like women much."

Giselle frowned.

"What do you mean exactly?"

"Oh, not implying he's a mandrake or anything, but-"

"Wait, wait. A mandrake? What's that?"

Simon's hand shot out, closing her mouth. "Quiet! You don't go shouting about these things!" He hissed, peering around to check that no had heard her.

She frowned as she removed his hand.

"I didn't shout. And what are we talking about anyway? Isn't that some type of plant?"

He stared at her, an unbelieving stare that had her squirming in her seat. "I don't know about any plants, but you don't go screaming about mandrakes in public."

She sighed. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to ask those two gentlemen behind me for the meaning?" his eyes popped open.

"No, no, I'll tell you. A mandrake is a...well when a man likes another one like himself."

Her frown instantly cleared.

"Oh. So he hates women, or does he avoid them because he already has one?" Giselle said, pushing the conversation even further in her search to glean information about the mysterious captain.

"Hate is a strong word, doesn't like or trust them seems more like it. You know, no one knows if he's got a little lady. At least, no one that I know knows."

Silence covered them like an uncomfortable blanket, as Simon fidgeted with his drink.

"He seems like a quiet chap, from what you said." Giselle commented.

Simon nodded his head.

"He is; likes to observe a lot he does. Always sits in that corner in his green coat, puffing at his pipe with his hat low over his bright eyes, looking at everything and missing nothing." He said, taking another long draft from his rapidly diminishing drink.

"What about his travels? Where does he go to mostly?"

"Oh, he goes everywhere. He's a trader. He buys and trades and trades and buys. And then he sells his goods to shops and other traders. Makes quite the profit, he does. At least, according to his ship mates."

"That's interesting. What does he trade, mostly?"

"Everything; spices, jewels, cloth, books, seeds and bulbs, ivory, furs, perfumes, food...everything that's tradable."

Giselle nodded.

"What about his dealings? Who does he usually deal with?"

"Traders and occasionally shop keepers. Mostly he deals with one Peter Stanton, another trader."

"And what about this Stanton character, what can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing, really. He doesn't come here much. Don't really know him. Although, other frequent customers say he's a cheat. Likes to cheat during games. From the little I heard, he doesn't seem to be like the captain much. He likes the ladies a lot, obsessed with them seems more like it. You keep away from him, he'd smell you out like a hound dog and make a fool out of your disguise." He said as he put his mug to his mouth and drank till it was empty.

He stood up, stretching his back and looking around the pub as he made his way behind the bar once again as Giselle looked around. Simon leaned forward, resting his fingers against the surface of the bar, brushing lightly against her forearm.

"You're in luck. The Captain seems to have gotten hold of his situation aboard his ship." He whispered as he leaned back and started wiping more glasses and mugs. Giselle turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of a familiar faded green coat.

She frowned as she turned back, not quite able to put her finger on where she knew that coat.

The knots in her stomach, which had subsided a lot during her talk with Simon increased to a tenfold as she tried to turn inconspicuously, in order to be able to observe the captain which was bringing her so much nervousness and discomfort.

He was dressed in a green coat. It was slightly faded at the edges and stained. The white shirt beneath the black dull buttoned waistcoat was slightly creased, but quite clean. His black breeches were quite new as was his black bowler hat. His hair was long and of a brownish colour, tied at the nape of his neck.

She couldn't see his face clearly, all she could notice was that his cheeks were clean shaven and his moustache was quite generous, and his eyes. They were a piercing bright brown. She could see that the hat was not enough to hide the intelligence that shone through.

However what shocked her most was that he was looking directly at her, straight into her eyes almost as if he had been waiting for her. He curled his finger, beckoning her towards him. She passed a couple of coins towards Simon and slipped from her stool.

She walked slowly towards the seated captain, trudging and dragging her while digging her hands deep in her pockets, hoping that the slight sway in the hips that was always present when she walked would not be so evident.

"New around these parts, boy?" he asked.

His voice was gruff, almost like someone who smoked too much. But she couldn't help but notice that there was something odd in the tone of his voice; like it was forced. However it was so subtle and unclear that she doubted whether she was noticing things that weren't there.

She nodded and dug her hands deeper, trying to hide her nervousness as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

"Sit." The captain ordered, as he motioned towards the empty seat next to him with his hand, as he snapped his fingers towards Simon, who dropped the cloth from his hands and hurried over to their table.

"Get us a round of ale, young man." Captain Basil said as Giselle seated herself meekly in the seat he had pointed out.

"Yes sir," Simon said as he gave a brief but meaningful look to Giselle.

The captain turned back towards her, his piercing gaze reading her from top to bottom.

She couldn't help but notice how the hat was still hiding most of his face inconspicuously.

"What's your name, boy?" The captain said.

"Peter, sir." She replied.

He nodded as he motioned with his head towards the other people.

"Anyone your relative? How come you're this side of London?" he asked as he took out his old pipe from his pocket.

She swallowed. It was time to test the story she had came up with. The soft light flickered at the edges of her vision as she looked directly at the captain, ignoring the strong feeling that she knew him somewhere else and dived headlong into her story.

"No, sir. I don't have any relatives in London anymore. My mother used to work for a rich man as a maid, but when she died he threw me out."

"And why is that?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I look like him?" she offered timidly.

He nodded as he lit the tobacco in his pipe with a match and put the bitten end of the old wooden pipe in his mouth.

She could see that he was not fully convinced with her story, she didn't know how she reached that conclusion, but she knew she was right. She breathed in deeply, preparing herself for the next 'stage', as the captain downed the rest of his drink and signalled Simon for another one.

"Are you Captain Basil?" she asked as she took a sip from hers.

His eyes shifted to her as he nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"I heard that you're in need of a cook, for your ship and since I also am in need for an occupation, I was wondering if maybe I'd find employment with you?" she winced inwardly; she hated begging even though she was disguised and not planning on taking the job.

He puffed at his pipe, as his eyes fixed on her, examining and reading her inside out. Her feeling of discomfort was increasing; dread that her disguise would be found out was eating away at her stomach. Her eyes automatically went down to her twitching fingers, trying to calm and steady herself. She clasped her fingers together in attempt to hide her nervousness and looked up at Captain Basil, trying hard to bring forth a look of hope on her face.

She couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, she knew his stare, that she had already been at the receiving end of his penetrating gaze.

"Why would you want to work on a ship? It's hardly the place for a boy."

"I know, sir. But I'm in desperate need of funds, and I'd rather have no ill-gotten gains."

"And why would a boy like you need funds?"

"Because at the moment I have no one to go to."

"Have you ever cooked before, boy?"

She nodded her head in response as he knocked back his ale.

"Good enough." The Captain replied gruffly.

He passed some money to Giselle.

"Go bring me another one, lad."

She quickly stood up and went over to Simon, the mug held tightly in her hand.

"Did you get what you need?"He asked as he took the mug out of her hand and refilled it.

"Not exactly. But you gave me most of what I needed so..." she shrugged as she took the mug in her hands and made her way back to the table.

Giselle pushed the mug towards the Captain, chipping a couple of splinters from the table top. He took the mug, holding it tightly in his hand. She frowned as she sat down.

She had expected that they would be rougher, given that his line of work was on a ship. However, she was not familiar with the works of a captain.

"Drink up." He said, his eyes almost pinning her to the wall behind her with their intensity.

"What are you thinking, boy?" He said as soon as she had taken a gulp of her drink.

"Life at sea." She replied.

"Tell me Captain. What is it that you do exactly?"

"Trading." He said. She faked interest and surprise, acting as if she did not know.

"That's interesting. What do you trade, sir?" she asked, leaning forwards.

He chuckled, seeing her enthusiasm.

"Spices from the orient. Silks from India. Gems and jewels from Africa and America. Coal from America as well. And ivory. I get that from Asia and Africa." He said, as he took another gulp from his mug.

He chuckled at her wide-eyed stare, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Would that mean that I would see those countries? If work with you." She said, aiming for child-like curiosity, as he nodded.

"Come to the docks tomorrow morning, son. We'll talk then." The Captain replied, as he downed his drink and stood up, waiting by the table.

She stood up as well, her heart beating fast, glad that she was going to make it out of there, her feet itching for her to run out of the inn. However, the captain showed no sign of moving. His eyes kept darting from her face to the drink she left on the table, and she realised that he was waiting for her to copy him and down her drink.

She coughed, hiding her slight grimace, not really wishing for the bitter taste to flood her taste buds, however, she took the mug and downed what was left of her drink. He nodded to her and left to go to another table, clearly wanting to speak to another person.

She nodded to Simon and walked out of the pub, picking the cloak and skirt she had hidden in the alley and hurried away back to Baker Street.

Giselle shivered, drawing the cloak tighter around her in the chilly night air.

She was suddenly tired.

The tense and anxious feeling which had been accompanying her the entire night left her suddenly leaving her drained so much that she didn't notice a shadow trailing her steps, or the shadow suddenly disappearing in an alley just before she turned the corner to Baker Street.

The front door creaked as she opened it; however, she paid it no heed as she quickened her pace up the stairs.

As she passed by Holmes' room, she knocked on his door twice. However, no one opened or answered her.

Her head turned slightly to the side involuntarily, trying to listen to what was going on inside. A smirk made its way on her face; the room was oddly quiet. She skipped to her room, to wash off the grime and change into a long and warm night gown.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she closed the door behind her and lit the oil lamp. Sherlock Holmes had just confirmed her suspicions.

Moments later, she found herself sitting in front of Holmes' fireplace, stroking a snoozing Gladstone.

The door opened softly and someone walked into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She recognized the footsteps and hence their owner; Sherlock Holmes. She had listened to them countless times during the nights that sleep eluded her.

"It did not work." She said, without turning to look at him.

There was a soft thump, indicating that he had thrown something soft to the side of the room and moments later he was seated her; on the tiger skin in front of the fireplace.

"What didn't work?"

"Your disguise. I recognized you, Captain Basil."

**Reviews? Please?**


	7. Chapter Six

**Hello people of the world. Like I said, this didn't take too long. My thanks go to ****Frostivy****, ****Stargazer1364****, ****luvgerrydracula**** and ****MidnightChiller13****. Believe me when I say that reviews motivate a writer. They really do!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

Sherlock kept quiet. From the corner of her eye she saw his mouth twitch in a half smile reluctantly.

"I could say the same for you. You were a rather unconvincing boy. Now, tell me what you gleaned and I'll tell you what I think."

She frowned at the fire, thinking and categorizing every piece of information.

"Captain Basil is a trader who trades and travels round the world. Silks, ivory, jewels, spices, tobacco and coal if I'm not mistaken. No known affiliation with women, quiet personality but not easily bullied, pays his debts. He's from Whitechapel and no known criminal activities. His friend though, Stanton, is a known cheat. So therefore, I wouldn't be surprised if he is involved in criminal activities. Which casts doubt on Basil. Is he as clean as he looks? Or is he good enough to hide his dirty hands? Also, he's a good captain, from what I heard, a fair one who tries to uphold justice aboard his ship while trying to prevent any...casualties as well."

Sherlock nodded. "Not bad. What else did you glean from his appearance?"

Giselle closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"He takes care of his clothes, but only to a certain extent. Stains in his coat and dull buttons suggest that he's a bachelor. Or a widower. Hat drawn low over his eyes, he was trying to hide his identity. He smokes and yet his moustache has no yellowing. Clearly, he can't grow a moustache overnight, so that leaves us with two options. He doesn't smoke regularly enough or his moustache is a fake. His voice was gruff, but forced. So he was trying to hide his voice as well. His hands did not look as if they did any hard work, so his work aboard his ship may be questionable. Does he do any work on the ship? Is he even a captain? No tan, so definitely not a captain. There was a slight bulging in his coat's breast pocket. Most probably a fire arm. I'm inclined to think that he's not as 'clean' as he looks, or that Captain Basil is nothing but an alias; a disguise used for another purpose. His clothes, I had already seen them and his eyes were familiar. It's safe to assume that Captain Basil is none other than one of Sherlock Holmes' disguises."

She stopped and opened her gray eyes.

"What do you think?" she said as she turned her tired eyes to him.

"Good, you got the rumours and physical appearance perfectly. What about the facts? Were you able to prove the rumours with the facts?"

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"For someone trained in the scientific ways, your methods were rather lacking. You must always prove your theories with fact. You must never twist the facts to suit the theory, but the other way round; the theory must suit the facts. Quite simply, I was rather disappointed." He stated.

Giselle stared at him, her lips parted in shock.

He waited for her to respond back, to defend herself.

However, her reply died on her lips. Her lips closed and pressed themselves into a thin line as she realised what he was doing.

He had deduced that she always learned the theory before moving to something practical. She realised that he wanted to teach her that there would not always be time to learn the theory before; that sometimes she would have to rely on her knowledge and instincts to get her through situations. Bluff her way through in a believable manner, so to speak.

Giselle's face tightened in a grimace as several more things were made obvious to her.

His methods of teaching were not easy on the student; there would be no spoon feeding. She also realised that she was meant to fail; that this was a direct hit at her pride. She knew that it was obvious that she was proud in her abilities due to her academic successes, which had made her very proud in her abilities.

She looked in his eyes, frowning.

She concluded that he wanted her to be more humble in her approach to what he was going to teach her.

"I understand." She said, the frown not leaving her face.

Sherlock's lips twitched.

"Do you? Then we have no further need to discuss your methods. Moving on to your disguise, what are my thoughts?"

"Horrible disguise." She promptly replied.

"Remember what I just told you, always support your claims."

It was difficult to find flaws in her plan.

"I was too feminine." She said, as he nodded in response.

"What else?"

"My clothes were too clean for a homeless person, especially a boy. I kept changing the tone of my voice, revealing my disguise and I left my drink unattended. Also, the story I provided was weak."

Sherlock nodded again in agreement.

"You must always strive to improve yourself." He said as he stood up.

She followed his example, her back aching in protest.

"First thing tomorrow evening after the book store, Miss Elmer. Don't be late." He said as he turned from her and walked to the window.

"Goodnight, Mr Holmes." She said, realising her dismissal and hurrying back to her room, eager for her comfortable bed.

As she lay in bed that night, her eyebrows knitted themselves into a frown.

Humility, she decided, was a very bitter medicine and she vowed to herself to try even harder.

With that final thought, her vision blurred and moments later she was fast asleep.

**I hope you liked that! Please leave a review, they're free (and if you do leave loads of reviews to leave me happy; I'll promise I'll update quickly...pinky promise.) Thanks!**


	8. Chapter Seven

**So here's the much awaited chapter; delivered not-too-long-after, as promised. My thanks go to Frostivy, atruesherlockian, HollyFire, Stargazer1364 and pk6873 for their reviews. Thank you! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

She loved books. It was obvious.

However, Giselle couldn't deny the fact that sitting in a bookshop, no matter how much she loved books, was boring.

At the very least she had whatever Holmes had prepared to look forward to, she thought to herself as she hurried up the stairs in Mrs Hudson's house.

Waiting for her outside her room's door was a pile of clothes and a note. She quickly unlocked the

door and hurried in, taking the pile with her.

_Tighten your corset to a comfortable size._ The note read.

She frowned at that, and wondered at whatever plan he had in mind.

_Clearly_, she thought as she shed her dress and loosened slightly her corset so she could breathe more easily, _he planned some sort of physical activity._

The comfortable shirt and trousers and ribbon were more than confirmation.

The clothes were of good quality. They felt quite smooth and pleasant against her skin as she put them on. They didn't fit her quite as comfortably as she would have liked. The white shirt was too loose at her shoulders and she had to roll up her sleeves a couple of times in order to be able to use her hands. The black trousers were almost too snug around her hips and too loose everywhere else. The looseness, she repaired, by using a string instead of a belt, however there was nothing she could do for her hips' almost too tight fit.

She quickly tied her hair with the blue ribbon, put on her boots and skipped to Holmes' room, enjoying the clicking of her heels against the floor as she skipped. She couldn't stop from bouncing on the balls of her feet as she lightly rapped her knuckles against the wood of the door.

To say that she was excited was an understatement.

A soft "Come in," prompted her to open the door and step in. She barely noticed the soft snick of the door as she closed it, turning to look for Holmes in his ever messy room.

And as soon as her eyes landed on the window, a duster sailed towards her head from a shadowy corner.

She had no time to react; the duster hit her head with a smart '_twack'_, making her pause in her actions. A frown crawled on her face, her good mood instantly transforming into annoyance.

"Always be on your guard." Sherlock said as he stepped out of the shadowy corner.

"What the hell was that for?!" she exclaimed, rubbing the red skin of her forehead, which was still stinging. "Language, Miss Elmer." He reprimanded, his eyes glinting with amusement.

She bit her cheek, trying to stop herself from retorting back. He stared at her for a couple of seconds, challenging her to reply. But she didn't. She wanted to show him that even though she was a proud student, she knew what respect was and how to show it to her superiors. He was, after all, her teacher.

"My apologies. What was the reason for that?" she said trying to control her temper.

"An introduction to today's lesson."

"I see. So today's lesson is hitting me in the head? You do know that every time you hit your head, you kill an amount of brain cells, right?" she retorted, sarcasm showing through her efforts to hide her irritation.

Giselle could literally see him stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

"Combat, Miss Elmer. Would I be correct in assuming that you're not as adapt at defending yourself as you should be?"

She frowned at his suspenders, their colour contrasting against his white shirt and nodded. His question sounded mocking, even though she knew it was not meant to be so. And this infuriated her even more.

She followed him as he walked to a clear space, noticing only then that his delicate scientific apparatus were missing, as were his bottles of chemicals and preserved specimen.

The entire area was not as clear as she had previously thought, though. There was a small crumpled rug at one side, and a walking stick was left next to it. A heavy encyclopaedia was on the other side.

A swift kick to the back of her knees sent her crashing down on all fours.

"Never take your eyes off your opponent." He said, as she swiftly got back up.

He motioned with his hands, asking her to participate without uttering a word, his eyes glinting in mirth. She threw her fist at him, using all her strength.

And he quickly dropped down below the level of her fist and pulled her leg out from under her. A short screech escaped her lips as she lost balance, the hard floor meeting her back, leaving a sharp sting behind.

"Expect the unexpected." He said as he offered her his hand to get up.

She took it, and he instantly pulled her up and moved away from in front of her. She promptly lost her balance once again and tripped forwards, smacking her torso.

"And never trust your opponent."

His amusement was gone.

She quickly got up again.

Her back ached, her stomach stung and her pride was severely hurt.

Her hands curled into fists and her elbows bent, protecting her ribcage and head. Her knees bent, as she started circling him, copying his actions.

A white handkerchief materialized in his hand, and she instantly knew what he was going to do.

She ducked and slid to the side on the floor, where she quickly swept her foot behind him, tripping him. She stood up, the handkerchief in her hand after picking it up from the floor.

Sherlock quickly twisted himself, still on the floor, grasped something and pulled hard.

A small squeak of surprise escaped her lips, as she lost balance once again and found the floor rushing to meet her once again. She opened her eyes, as she lay on the floor, eyeing Sherlock's already standing form with annoyance.

She realized that she had stepped on the rug.

"Keep in mind your surroundings."

She nodded as she raised her hand.

"Help me up, my back hurts." She said.

Just as his fingers closed around her palm, she tightened her hold on him and kicked his legs, rolling away to one side. Needless to say, he lost his balance once again as she quickly jumped to her feet and skipped out of reach.

"What was that you said about trust?" she said, resisting the urge to smirk.

He allowed a small smile to escape as he quickly got up again and resumed their sparring, dodging kicks and trading punches.

At one point, when Giselle was trying to catch her breath after a particularly vigorous dodge, a sharp whack at the back of her thigh rendered her leg useless.

She gasped as she wobbled on her left leg.

"Give it time, let the numbness decrease first." Sherlock said, the walking stick twirling in his hand.

"No, I'm fine." She said as she put her leg down and winced. It stung, but her determination was stronger.

A sigh escaped Sherlock's thin lips.

"Don't. Get. Over. Confident." He said as he smacked her on her left thigh, right thigh, left ribs and right arm with the walking stick in succession with his words.

She growled; the sting to her pride much worse than the physical stinging in her body.

Her legs coiled and just as she was about to launch herself at him, Sherlock threw the walking stick in the air, caught it from the straight end and hooked the curved part behind her ankle. A sharp jerk pulled her leg from underneath her and, with a colourful curse, she lost balance once again.

The walking stick flipped itself in the air again, and the straight pointed end was pointed at her very much like a sword.

"Above anything else, _never_ let your emotions control you."

Her scowl didn't leave her face.

Her pride had taken a severe beating.

The walking stick was removed from in front of her and a hand replaced it, offering to help her stand. She ignored it and stood up on her own.

"Being obstinate is useful Miss Elmer, but you need to learn when and to whom you should submit." He said, his hand falling limply to his side.

Her scowl didn't leave.

He turned, the soles of his shoes grinding against the floor, as he manoeuvred himself between piles of books and papers and picked a book.

"Follow this book's instructions, Miss Elmer, and you should notice your strength increasing considerably." He said as he handed her the book. She took it and murmured a soft thanks.

His shoes ground against the floor as he turned once again and walked to his window, clearly dismissing her without words, as he picked a matchbox and his pipe from a side table. The clicking of her boots against the floor sounded hollow even to her as she walked to the door.

She paused, her hand on the door handle and her body angled towards Sherlock, who was puffing at an already lit pipe.

"Thank you." She said softly.

Her mood was still as black as thunder, but she knew if it hadn't been for Sherlock, she would have been living on the streets at that very moment, if she would still have been alive.

He turned, his gaze dark and scorching. And after a moment, he nodded once and turned to look out of the window, his unlit pipe in his hand.

As she looked at the pipe, something in her mind clicked. She yearned for a cigarette, for the smoke to fill her lungs and calm her racing thoughts. The burning need hadn't hit her with such intensity for about a couple of weeks.

Instead, she hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her.

**I know the story is not very intriguing at the moment, but this is the calm before the storm, or as Gandalf says: 'The deep breath before the plunge.' Trust me, the story will pick up from next chapter.**

**Reviews? Please? They make me super happy!**


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